


Operation: Stop Coryphy-tit

by thedeathlymarshmallows



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Gen, Humor, could also be titled: a bunch of nerds trying to save the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2018-08-31 00:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8556250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathlymarshmallows/pseuds/thedeathlymarshmallows
Summary: In which the members of the Inquisition attempt to set personal differences aside in order to focus on the real threat: Coryphy-tit. Starring: An Inquisitor who would really rather be anywhere else, Feat. Cassandra Pentaghast's Disgusted Noises. (Follows the main story and various side quests).





	1. Home Sweet Home

**Author's Note:**

> Taking place after the Inquisition sets up camp in Skyhold, this fic follows our fateful squad as they valiantly try to get along with each other whilst simultaneously saving the world (no small task).
> 
> Spoiler Warning: Since we’ll be travelling with the Inquisition through events that take place after Haven, there will be spoilers for several quests and the main story. You’ve been warned!

 

**STARRING:**

**Our Reluctant Female Qunari Inquisitor Who Happens to be a Mage:** Herah Adaar

 **Her Lover, Much to the Horror of Literally Everyone Else:** Sera (Part-time beekeeper, full-time Vivienne hater)

 **The Ever-More-Exasperated Seeker:** Cassandra ‘Disgusted Noise’ Pentaghast

 **The Shadow Lurking in Every Dark Corner:** Leliana, Spymaster Extraordinaire and Passionate Nug Enthusiast

 **The Templar, The Leader of Men, The…Awkward Fumbling Mess That Is:** Cullen Rutherford

 **A Rustle of Extravagant Golden Sleeves and a Precious Cinnamon Roll** : Josephine Montilyet

 **A Drifter, A Loner, An Apostate and Fashion Disaster:** Solas (The Egg)

 **Writer of Seedy Stories and Envy of Every Smooth Chest:** Varric Tethras

 **The Crusher of Dragon Skulls with Nothing but His Pillowy Man Bosoms:** Iron Bull

 **An Enchanter Who Can Roast Ten Nobles in One Dignified Breath:** ~~Vivienne~~ Madame de Fer, Official Mage to the Imperial Court

 **A Stoic Heart Rivalled in Stature by Only His Own Glorious Beard:** Blackwall

 **Witty Banter and a Magnificent Moustache (The Dream Combo):** Dorian Pavus

 **Search Underneath the Hat and You Will Find a Son and Friend:** Cole

 

* * *

 

 

#  CHAPTER ONE.

#  HOME SWEET HOME

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken days to get to Skyhold. Days trekking through snow drifts and across perilous peaks. Whilst Solas had seemed to embody all the grace and elegance of some kind of mountain halla (or perhaps some sort of snowy wolf, Herah couldn’t quite make her mind up), the rest of the survivors from Haven had not been physically or mentally prepared for what had transpired to be a full-blown mountain expedition.

 

“Is there really…nowhere more accessible, Solas?” Herah had wheezed at one particularly difficult moment after Josephine had almost been lost down a ravine, “Somewhere… more sensible to base our operations?”

 

“Adaar,” Solas had begun solemnly, as though explaining something very simple to a notoriously dim-witted child, “when we reach our destination all will become clear. The location is perfect for travelling between Orlais and Ferelden. Not to mention, it is steeped in history-”

 

It was at this juncture that Herah had hurriedly stopped paying attention to the elf and begun jogging away as best she could across the snow-covered ground. It was one thing having to hike through an entire mountain range unprepared, but it was quite another having to do so with a bald mage banging on about spirits, the Fade and ancient elven history as though his life depended on it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tarasyl’an Te’las,” Solas declared proudly, gazing around the dilapidated throne room, “the place where the sky is kept, or, more specifically, the place where the sky was held back.”

 

“Ugh, make him stop!” Sera whined, scrabbling at her ears as though in physical pain, “He keeps saying words but they don’t _mean_ anything!”

 

“It is ancient elvish, as you well know Sera, and I even provided two translations to better explain the meaning-”

 

“Heraaahhhh!” Sera pleaded, now clawing at the qunari’s leather coat in desperation.

 

Herah Adaar gave a long-suffering sigh and a slow blink of the eyes. She was already deeply regretting her decision to scrabble out of the ruins of Haven. She could have just accepted her fate, closed her eyes, kicked back in the snow and welcomed the sweet, sweet embrace of death. Instead, here she was surrounded by rubble in a ruined fortress which had taken days to trek to, not to mention the loss of several people’s fingers to frostbite.

 

“Solas,” Herah began slowly and with no small amount of annoyance, “why have you brought us to a crumbling old fortress in the middle of nowhere?”

 

Solas had never been so personally offended in all his life. “Crumbling old fortress - ?!” He spluttered, “Skyhold is a masterpiece of architecture, a place built on a site where ancient elven rituals took place-”

 

 _“He’s doing it again!”_ Sera complained, tugging at Herah’s sleeves.

 

“Skyhold has stood here for generations -!” Solas retorted heatedly.

 

“Stood is a generous term, Solas dear,” Vivienne’s velvety voice cut in. She was glancing around the throne room with thinly veiled distaste. “Desperately clung onto the mountainside might be a more accurate description.”

 

“I’m going to unpack my things,” Solas huffed unhappily, marching down the hall and towards an empty doorway (the door, of which, had long since fallen off its hinges).

 

“Oh yeah, like what?” Sera called after him, “All you have is some boring book on how spirits take a shite!”

 

“It’s got nothing to do with that!” Solas snapped back, “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand the subtleties of the transformation of waste matter in the Fade-”

 

“So it is about shit?” Iron Bull’s voice boomed out heartily. It was of little comfort to Solas.

 

“I refuse to speak on this matter any further,” Solas said, giving a brief bow of the head to Herah before disappearing into the atrium.

 

“Ah, ain’t that nice,” Iron Bull commented, “I think we’re all ‘gonna get along just fine.”

 

From beside Vivienne, Cassandra Pentaghast gave her most exasperated _“Ugh!”_ to date.

 

* * *

 

 

Herah Adaar was concerned. This was, of course, for many reasons, including the overall sense of impending doom and disaster that had permeated everything since the explosion at the Conclave. It was also, however, because she had just spotted a desk in her quarters.

 

“Why do I need a desk? I don’t…I don’t have to do…paperwork, do I?” Herah asked, whirling around to face Cassandra, who was heaving a large crate of Elfroot across the room.

 

Why exactly Herah went out of her way to collect so much Elfroot was utterly beyond Cassandra, especially when it regularly included putting herself in gravely dangerous situations (Cassandra would never forget the time Herah charged brazenly towards a Fade Rift, only to ignore all demons flooding her way and focus instead on gently prizing a delicate Elfroot out of the ground). However, it was not up to Cassandra to beat such a habit out of the Herald (as much as she’d like to), and so here she found herself: helping Herah drag the entirety of her Elfroot stock into her quarters.

 

“Well,” Cassandra huffed in answer to Herah’s question, “as an important figure of our Inquisition, you will be required to sign papers from time to time I should imagine.” She gave the current crate of Elfroot one last shunt across the floor before seating herself on it, wiping the sweat from her brow. After a moment or two of no reply from the Herald, she glanced up to see Herah staring wistfully at the balcony.

 

“No jumping,” Cassandra ordered with a wry smile, “Paperwork may not be as exciting as fighting demons but it is no less important.”

 

“I haven’t got a signature,” Herah suddenly said, turning her head to stare at Cassandra seriously.

 

“I…what do you mean?”

 

“I’ve never had to sign anything before.”

 

“But…you were a mercenary of some repute, were you not?” Cassandra asked, thoroughly bewildered, “Surely you must have signed contracts and the like?”

 

Herah could only offer a set of huge, fearful eyes and a solemn shake of her horned head.

 

This was absurd. This was unheard of. This was the same woman who survived a jaunt in the Fade, who faced Corypheus and a mountain slide head on and lived to tell the tale. She was the _Herald of Andraste_ and here she was looking more terrified than Cassandra had ever seen her at the simple prospect of signing some paperwork.

 

Cassandra Pentaghast was more than a little flustered. “I….you…well it will be a necessity if we are to move forward with our operations. You will have to practice.” Here, the Seeker rose to her feet and plucked a quill from the Herald’s desk, offering it to the qunari with a look she hoped was encouraging. “Here.”

 

Unfortunately, Herah did not find the look Cassandra gave her encouraging. Instead, it seemed to symbolise a world-sized level of commitment and responsibility which she’d never asked for and, quite frankly, didn’t want.

 

“I understand your…point of view on this matter, Cassandra, and it’s…appreciated,” Herah replied tactfully, eyeing the quill with a disproportionate amount of distrust, “However, I have just had a vision from Andraste.”

 

Cassandra looked at Herah.

 

Herah looked at Cassandra.

 

“…Please do not blaspheme, if it is indeed your intention to do so-” Cassandra began.

 

“Andraste was quite clear that I should avoid paperwork at all costs,” Herah continued, with an air of confidence that was quite misplaced given the fact it was such a bold-faced lie, “Now, I’ve never claimed to be Andraste’s Chosen but since you were so adamant about such a concept yourself, I feel it would be prudent to take heed of such a vision and-”

 

 _“How dare you use Andraste’s name to try and shirk your responsibilities!”_ Cassandra interrupted hot-headedly, “I understand all of this is new to you and you may require some time to…adjust, but we all have to…it is expected of the Herald to…you can’t just pick and choose what you wish to do!”

 

Tragically for Cassandra and her inherently pious nature, Herah was already making a hurried exit towards the stairs.

 

“I can’t control or explain the way Andraste works, I can only voice her messages!” Herah called over her shoulder, “I am but a vessel, a mouthpiece-”

 

“ADAAR, COME BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!” Cassandra demanded.

 

“I MUST GO, CASSANDRA,” Herah replied as her horns disappeared from view, “ANDRASTE GUIDES ME TO THE TAVERN!”

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, I’ve always hated paperwork,” Varric said thoughtfully, reminiscing over his illustrious career as he set another tankard of ale down before his drinking companions, “Writing stories can be difficult enough, but putting quill to parchment for some boring reply to a publisher? That’s a real tragedy.”

 

Herah gave a pitiful, all-suffering sob in reply and began drowning her sorrows immediately.

 

Dorian watched the display with an amused grin. “Cheer up chum, at least they haven’t got you practicing Orlesian dances yet.”

 

Herah froze mid-gulp, eyes fixating on the mage beside her in pure, unadulterated horror.

 

“Another necessity, I’m afraid,” Dorian explained, “especially at Grand Balls, it distracts from all the murderous plots being hatched.”

 

It was at this point that Herah Adaar let out what could only be described as a grief-stricken wail and let her head slam defeatedly onto the table.

 

* * *

 

 

Three ominous figures were lurking in the atrium doorway. Solas had felt their presence long before their shadows were cast across the floor, but he had so far managed to ignore them, due to other pressing matters at hand such as unpacking a collection of runes he was particularly fond of. Cole had been a great help, taking each rune and patting it softly before gently placing them side by side in a display case he had managed to salvage from one of the towers.

 

Sadly, however, the figures appeared to be getting itchy feet and had started edging ever closer through the doorway. There was no way around it, then. Solas would have to face them. Here. Now.

 

The elf turned around and placed his hands on his desk, staring his foes squarely in the face. “Do you seek my assistance in some trivial matter?”

 

Blackwall stepped forwards, Iron Bull and Sera peering over his shoulders.

 

“Yes, actually,” the bearded man replied, “We’ve been discussing spirits and the suchlike and we have a question.”

 

Solas glared at the trio before him.

 

The trio stared back (Sera’s eyes in particular were full of menacing mischief).

 

“Don’t you dare-” Solas began.

 

“Do spirits really shit?” Blackwall finished.

 

Solas raised a hand as magical energy crackled into life.

 

* * *

 

 

“And of course, darling, we will require the finest cutlery.”

 

“Yes, I couldn’t agree more-”

 

“Tapestries and banners of such beauty they will stop ambassadors in their tracks-”

 

“I will add it to the list-”

 

“We want to _inspire_ nobles,” Vivienne continued, monitoring every item which Josephine hurriedly scribbled onto a list of such length it was now trailing behind them as they journeyed down the throne room, “We must enchant royalty and _command respect-”_

 

A sudden shriek, half-terror half-laughter, erupted from the atrium before Sera came catapulting into vision, quickly followed by Iron Bull, Blackwall and a barrage of ice spikes which smashed into the wall opposite. Sera promptly fell over her own feet in her hurry and was deftly swung onto the shoulders of Iron Bull who roared something about “SHIT’S STILL SHIT EVEN IF IT’S IN THE FADE”, before Blackwall gave a loud guffaw and the three disappeared merrily out of the main door and towards the tavern.

 

A moment of silence as dust gently fell from the rafters above. Vivienne gracefully raised a hand to brush it from her shoulders.

 

“The enormity of such a task, however, must not be underestimated,” The enchanter finished delicately, “Especially whilst we continue to house such cretins.”

 

* * *

 

 

The quill swirled across the parchment again and again, interrupted only by the occasional groan of torture from the qunari wielding it. Herah had been forced into ‘signature practice’ in her quarters by Cassandra, in a very unwilling and bitter manner, and had worked through no less than three rolls of parchment in the past hour. Scrawling her name again and again and again in the same unnecessarily elaborate manner.

 

Josephine, who had been called in by Cassandra as reinforcements, gave the odd comforting word of encouragement and gentle pat on the back to the Herald who was, unfortunately and unarguably, really rather drunk after her escapades in the tavern.

 

“How do you make the loops look like letters…” Herah mumbled unhappily, “Why must we play God…”

 

“The trick is actually to make the letters look like loops,” Josephine offered helpfully with a reassuring smile to boot.

 

Herah stared at her in agony, tears glistening in her eyes.

 

“Oh, honestly,” Cassandra huffed, arms folded across her chest, “I’ve never seen such a fuss. And to think we are going to declare you our Inquisitor tomorrow.”

 

“Cassandra!” Josephine squealed, staring accusingly at the Seeker beside her.

 

A deadpan expression from the warrior, save for a slight twitch in her right eyebrow. “…How troublesome.”

 

Herah stared up at the two of them with wide eyes. She might still be drunk, but she wasn’t completely devoid of all sense. “Inquisitor?! Josephine, explain-”

 

“You know, I think that concludes our practice for today,” Josephine replied, hurriedly tidying away the parchment and making a hasty retreat with Cassandra, “Sleep well, Inquisitor-I MEAN HERALD!”

 

“Yes, you have a big day-A NORMAL DAY, A NORMAL DAY TOMORROW,” Cassandra added, as the two promptly vanished down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

They should have expected it really. Herah was terribly hungover, with vast dark rings under her eyes, and had vomited at least four times before being forced outside to face the growing crowd. The people of Skyhold had been promised a speech from their newly appointed Inquisitor, and they were going to have it for better or worse.

 

Stood atop the steps leading to the throne room, Leliana presented Herah with the ceremonial sword uncertainly. Cassandra cleared her throat uncomfortably as she watched Herah suddenly wretch, only managing to pull herself together at the last moment.

 

The crowd below waited with bated breath.

 

“The Inquisition requires a leader,” Cassandra began cautiously, “The one who has already been leading it.”

 

A slight pause. The Seeker almost couldn’t bring herself to say it.

 

“You.”

 

Herah Adaar gave a tortured groan.

 

“All of these people have their lives because of you,” Cassandra prompted awkwardly, “they will follow.”

 

“They can follow me to the Void,” Herah responded, thankfully quiet enough that only Cassandra and Leliana could hear, “because that’s where this hangover is taking me.”

 

“I will not lie, handing this power to anyone is troubling,” Cassandra continued valiantly, ushering Herah towards the sword, “But I have to believe this is meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you will lead, that must be yours to decide.”

 

The moment had arrived. Herah stood before Leliana’s outstretched arms disinterestedly. She hadn’t even noticed the sword, such was the state of her. The Spymaster and Seeker exchanged concerned glances. Leliana wiggled the sword to capture Herah’s attention.

 

“Take it,” Leliana hissed under her breath, “or I’ll run it through you myself.”

 

With an exasperated sigh that spanned the ages, Herah reluctantly took the sword from Leliana’s grip and turned to face the crowd. She was unhappy to see Cullen and Josephine’s admiring looks from below. They would be very disappointed.

 

“Thank you…Cassandra…Leliana,” Herah began shakily, summoning all her willpower not to projectile vomit across the courtyard, “I would firstly like to thank my parents, who rejected the Qun and thus damned me to a life of shunning from every race, and who haven’t responded to a single letter I’ve sent them since joining the Valos-kas and now the Inquisition. This leads me to believe they are most likely dead, which is fine, but I would like some closure on the matter.”

 

A brief pause, another wretch. Cassandra and Leliana felt as though they were watching a wagon crash, unable to prevent the disaster but simultaneously unable to pry their eyes away from the carnage as it unfolded.

 

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Cassandra and Leliana,” Herah continued, “my greatest friends and advisors, who clapped me in irons as soon as they looked at me. I don’t know whether it was a qunari thing or a mage thing, but I’m still bitter as the Void-”

 

 _“You fell out of the Fade after the Conclave exploded-”_ Leliana hissed heatedly.

 

Herah, however, took no notice. “Now…it may have come to some of your attention…that my hand glows green. This is nothing to be worried about and is, in fact, a good source of light for night time reading.”

 

 _“Maker’s breath-”_ Cassandra muttered under her breath.

 

“In conclusion…” Herah continued, now swaying gently from side to side, “I am honoured to take up the mantle of Inquisitor since _somebody,”_ here she stared pointedly at Cassandra for a few moments, “swerved very hard. I now believe this to be a good thing, as I’m really…quite desperate to seek revenge on…Corphy…Corp…Carp…”

 

“CORYPHY-TIT!” Sera’s voice echoed out from the distance.

 

“On Coryphy-tit,” Herah corrected accordingly, “after he came for us out of nowhere. But we will take back what is ours!” Another slight pause. A few blinks from Herah. “Except we can’t…because Haven got crushed…by a mountain slide…that we created ourselves…”

 

A few discontented murmurs in the crowd.

 

“…Whose…Whose idea was that again?” Herah asked, turning to look at Cassandra and Leliana for a few brief seconds before swiftly fainting on the spot.


	2. Corpses in Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Herah, Cassandra, Solas and Sera venture into the undead-ridden region of Crestwood. Also there's tickets to a gun-show.

“Hey Tadwinks, you awake yet?”

 

“Mmff-ph.”

 

“Good. The grapevine’s been going bloody bonkers while you’ve been having a nap.”

 

“I’ve been…recovering…”

 

“From a hangover. That’s your own sodding fault,” Sera replied kindly, taking this moment as an opportunity to clamber onto the Inquisitor’s bed and straddle the unhappy qunari, “Now listen, I thought your speech was grand. You even called Coryphenus Coryphy-tit-”

 

“Corypheus.”

 

“Coryphullus.”

 

“Corypheus.”

 

“That’s what I said, stupid.”

 

“No, you didn’t’-”

 

“Look, shut up would you, I’m trying to explain something,” Sera snapped, giving Herah a playful whack on a horn, _“I_ really liked your speech, but everyone else _hated it-”_

 

“Oh crap-”

 

“Vivvy’s even had to go to Val Royeaux,” Here, Sera cleared her throat and put on her best Vivienne face (which was highly unflattering) as she attempted to mimic the mage, “‘To assess the scale of damage done and see how best the Inquisition’s reputation might be salvaged’. You know, all that rubbish and bollocks.”

 

“Double crap-”

 

“Doesn’t end there, right? One of my friends overheard Josie and Cassandra. They’re planning to send you on a trip, like...to get you out of the public eye or whatever?”

 

“Triple crap-”

 

“You’re ‘gonna take me with you though, yeah?” Sera continued, leaning down to press her forehead against Herah’s and fix her with a stare full of wild, giddy excitement, “Like a holiday, innit? I’ll make sure you don’t die, fill a few demons full of arrows and stuff. Lots of bees-”

 

_“No_ bees-”

 

“We can stick it to some nobs and even find time for… _other stuff,”_ Sera wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “It’ll be good, right? Just me and my Honey-Tongue-”

 

“And the Inquisition’s Seeker,” came a completely unwelcome voice from beside the bed.

 

Sera gave a surprised shriek (which came as quite the blow to Herah’s headache) before toppling off the bed and descending into a barrage of curses and profanities. Cassandra, stood patiently at the other side of the bed with a hand resting leisurely on the hilt of her sword, could only muster a few weary blinks and a sigh.

 

“And the Inquisition’s Fade Expert,” added another voice, arguably even more unwelcome than the first.

 

Sera’s head shot up to glare over the bed at the latest intruder, who was leaning on his staff and offering a withering look over proceedings.

 

“Eff off,” Sera snapped, in a way she hoped conveyed just _how much_ she wanted to turn them both into pincushions, “I don’t know how long you’ve both been creeping there for, but if you think you’re coming with us you can just _eff off-”_

 

“Eloquently put, as always Sera,” Solas replied curtly, turning his attention to the qunari on the bed, “Inquisitor, we’ve received word from Scout Harding that the village of Crestwood requires our aid. There appears to be a Fade rift in a lake which is causing-”

 

“Inquisitor,” Herah echoed with a mumble, clearly more focused on her new title than the prospect of dealing with _yet more_ Fade rifts, “So this morning really _did_ happen-”

 

“Yes, unfortunately,” Cassandra said, in a tone that suggested she couldn’t physically be less impressed if she tried, “It has been agreed that sending you to Crestwood to close the Fade rift will be a suitable way of repairing _some_ of the damage you have done with your ridiculous speech.”

 

“Oi! Inky’s speech was bloody brilliant!”

 

“It was…an acquired taste,” Solas mused, with a judgemental raise of a brow.

 

“Nobody asked you, you bald arse-biscuit!” Sera retorted heatedly, clambering across the bed with the intention, no doubt, of punting Solas’ staff out of his grip and through a window. Unfortunately for Sera, but thankfully for the rest of the group, Herah leant forwards and gently gathered up the wriggling ball of fury in her arms.

 

“LEMME GO!” Sera demanded indignantly, struggling in vain against the qunari’s muscular arms.

 

“How am I going to close this rift if it’s in a lake?” Herah asked, in a rather casual manner that did not befit her current situation of being slapped in the face by a furious blonde elf in her lap.

 

“Well,” Cassandra replied, left eye twitching slightly as Sera’s shrieks reached an entirely new pitch never before heard by mortals, “that is what we’re going to find out.”

 

* * *

 

 

This was not the holiday Sera had been envisaging. In fact, this was not a holiday at all.

 

Mud to the left and right of her, dilapidated empty houses behind her, an undead-infestation that stretched as far as the eye could see, cold rain plummeting down from above her. Everywhere she looked, everywhere she stepped, was full of shite and rubbish and bollocks and bloody water in her ruddy shoes and throngs of walking dead bodies everywhere – _because that’s bloody normal_ \- and all the sodding smells that came with it and dirt and grime splattered up places – _up places!_

 

“How does it even _get_ up there?!” Sera complained loudly, fiddling uncomfortably with her plaidweave leggings (much to the disgust of Cassandra, walking behind her, who simply exhaled a long-suffering _“Ugh!”_ ).

 

“Perhaps you should have worn more appropriate attire, Sera. Mala suledin nadas,” came Solas’ voice from ahead. The remark was entirely unwanted and immediately worsened the scowl on Sera’s face.

 

“Shut it, would you? We don’t _all_ want to go ‘round wearing weird flappy little tunics like _you_ do-”

 

“And yet, unlike you, I am both warm _and_ dry.”

 

“Piss off!” Sera seethed through grit teeth, _“Just piss the frig off!”_

 

“I do so enjoy these little outings we go on,” Herah commented leisurely from the front of the expedition. The qunari was taking this whole corpse-infested region thing in her stride, which was simultaneously unnerving and impressive in equal measure. It was also bloody annoying because it meant she kept charging off into the unknown, brandishing her staff to do battle with hordes of the undead, apparently unaware of the danger she was putting herself in.

 

“Ah, look! More Elfroot!” Herah announced presently, suddenly veering off path and plunging waist-deep into _complete bogshite._

 

“Inquisitor! _Must_ you a _lways-”_ Cassandra began.

 

Unfortunately, she was swiftly interrupted by a corpse sending an arrow whizzing inches past her head.

 

* * *

 

 

The Mayor of Crestwood was not entirely sure what he’d been expecting when he’d heard the Inquisition was paying a visit. Perhaps a few ambassadors, the odd General or Lieutenant to calm the nerves amidst the current Corpse Crisis, a bit of pomp and ceremony. Maybe even a luncheon or two with Josephine Montilyet herself. He wasn’t asking for _much,_ but he felt a modicum of dignity and a certain ambience of _respect_ would come naturally to the Inquisitor and her closest allies.

 

Instead, he found himself awoken suddenly and without warning in the middle of the night by the sound of loud voices arguing outside his door – none of which he recognised.

 

“Inquisitor, you cannot just _break_ into the Mayor of Crestwood’s residence!”

 

“Cassandra, it’s wet and cold out here and everyone else has shut up shop, so unless you have a better idea-”

 

“You’re only wet and cold because you kept _plunging_ into giant puddles headfirst!”

 

“Untrue. I went in feet first.”

 

_“Ugh!”_

 

_“Shite!_ Teetness, I need another lockpick-”

 

“That was the last one.”

 

“Well that’s bloody stupid! Why’ve we only got one sodding lockpick with us?!”

 

“Perhaps I could assist by bending the Fade in order to-”

 

_“Back away from the door, baldy!_ You ain’t bending _anything_ near me!”

 

“I’ve had enough of this. Cassandra, boot the door down.”

 

_“…Inquisitor?!”_

 

“Just boot it down.”

 

“I…I don’t-”

 

“I’ve seen your calf muscles, you could kick a bear across Thedas if you wanted-”

 

“I… _since when have you seen my calves?!”_

 

“Pssshhhhh! Look at how red she’s got!”

 

It was at this point that the squabbling reached such intense levels that The Mayor of Crestwood could no longer distinguish what exactly was being said and by which unfamiliar voice. Instead, he scrambled out of his bed and grabbed a sword which was propped beside a set of drawers, brandishing it towards the door. He couldn’t be _completely certain_ he’d heard reference to an ‘Inquisitor’ and it seemed highly unlikely that the Herald of Andraste would be breaking into his house, no matter the situation. These people were surely thieves or assassins, and exceptionally inept ones at that. Well, they would quickly find that he was ready to defend himself to his _last breath_ if it came to it-

 

A sudden jolt, a loud CRASH! as his front door came catapulting off its hinges with all the force of a small meteor. A terrified scream from The Mayor of Crestwood, an equally surprised shriek from a petite blonde elf who came tumbling into his house alongside the door, a great deal of dust falling from every which way, and an exceptionally irritated woman stomping through the now empty doorframe.

 

“Please _do_ make yourself at home, Inquisitor, as trespassing is clearly of _no_ concern to someone of your title.”

 

“Thank you, Cassandra, although your level of sarcasm has not gone unnoticed and is not _entirely_ appreciated.”

 

A huff from the warrior as she crossed her arms furiously across her chest. Herah gave her no notice as she breezed past her and glanced down to her lover, who was lying haphazardly on the wooden floorboards.

 

“…Sera, what’re you doing down there-”

 

“YOU BLEW THE BLOODY DOOR OFF - !”

 

“Inquisitor,” Solas’ voice drifted from the doorway, which he was touching carefully, “I’m not certain the building is still structurally sound-”

 

“Oh, wonderful,” Cassandra commented, voice laden with sarcasm, “we’ve only been in Crestwood for half a day and already the Inquisitor has demolished the Mayor’s house-”

 

“I think you’ll find it’s still standing right now actually, Cassandra,” Herah replied curtly.

 

“Oi! Are you ‘gonna help me up or what?!” Sera demanded indignantly from the floor, scowling for all she was worth, “This was meant to be a shittin’ holiday! You’ve singed off my arse hairs!”

 

_“Ugh!”_

 

It was at this point in proceedings that The Mayor of Crestwood had decided _he’d had enough._ With a slightly unsteady wiggle of the sword, which he’d hoped would look threatening but inarguably created the opposite effect, Gregory Dedrick cleared his throat.

 

“Who are you all? And what is the meaning of this?!”

 

Cassandra looked as though she was going to reply, but then couldn’t quite find the words to correctly phrase their sudden appearance, so instead thought better of it and threw her hands up in defeat. Luckily, Solas was more than ready to take up the mantle.

 

“You requested aid and the Inquisition has heeded your call.”

 

“By…breaking into my house?!” The Mayor spluttered, as if it utterly defied belief.

 

The Inquisitor was looking a jot offended by this most recent remark. Here she was after a tireless day of unappreciated navigating and corpse-obliterating – not to mention the Elfroot-collecting – and all she sought was a warm reception from a thankful Mayor of a small, muddy village and instead…instead she received _this._

 

“I think you’ll find,” Herah began, with all the hallmarks of another one of her diplomatically suicidal exchanges, “such an entrance wouldn’t have been necessary had you simply opened the door.”

 

Indignant huffing and spluttering from Gregory Dedrick. “You didn’t knock!”

 

Herah waved a hand dismissively. Such insignificant matters didn’t concern her. “Let’s not split hairs, Mayor Diddlydick-”

 

_“Dedrick!”_

 

“You have a rift in your lake. I have a glowing green mark on my hand. Let’s make it happen.”

 

Here, much to the horror of Cassandra and Solas, Herah offered the Mayor of Crestwood a wink and a click of the tongue before playfully swatting the sword out of his hand – as though it were a small butter knife – as she strode past to seat herself leisurely on his bed.

 

_“Inquisitor,”_ Cassandra hissed, as though she had never been more thoroughly embarrassed in all her life, “perhaps your choice of seating is a little… _inappropriate-”_

 

“Right then, big boy,” Herah continued brazenly, producing a sodden map from who knows where, “do you have a plan to get us near this rift or are we going swimming?”

 

The Mayor of Crestwood, now with glowing red ears and cheeks, offered a few more nonsensical splutters before admitting defeat and going to fetch a quill and ink from his desk.

 

Sera, still on the floor from where she’d fallen earlier, was clutching her sides as she cackled for all she was worth.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Closing the rift was turning out trickier than first anticipated – and that was saying something considering it was already located in a lake.

 

First there had been Caer Bronach, a keep which had been overrun by bandits and which the Inquisition needed to navigate through in order to reach the dam controls.

 

“Dam controls?” Herah had asked in a monotone voice back at Gregory Dedrick’s house, an eye already twitching in annoyance.

 

“Yes,” The Mayor had replied pleasantly as he marked an area on Herah’s map with a big **X** , “you will need to use them to drain the lake.”

 

“Drain the whole lake?” Herah repeated, “A whole… an entire lake?”

 

“Yes, that’s the one.”

 

“Just… you mean… to clarify… you want us to drain that _whole_ lake?”

 

“I should think so.”

 

“Isn’t that going to cause some… some kind of… damage to the environment or something?”

 

“What environment?” Sera snorted, “It’s all undead boogeymen and bogshite, isn’t it?”

 

“…Point taken.”

 

“Still,” Cassandra’s voice had interrupted matter-of-factly, “it seems a little odd there are dam controls for the lake at all. What is the purpose of them?”

 

“To drain the lake,” The Mayor said.

 

“Or conversely?” Solas questioned.

 

The Mayor looked a little uncomfortable at this. He’d begun fiddling with his collar. It suddenly felt too tight. “…To flood Old Crestwood, I suppose. Not that I would know anything about that! Ha – ha! Ha! Ha – Ha – HA!”

 

Gregory Dedrick’s awkward laughter had been perhaps a little ominous, and the four Inquisition members had glanced at one another suspiciously, but the trip to Caer Bronach had gone ahead all the same.

 

It was not fun and it was certainly not a holiday, much to Sera’s disappointment.

 

The keep gate had been smashed into pieces by a few solid swings of Cassandra’s trusty mace (the Seeker’s strength was truly superhuman and utterly terrifying, something which Herah and Sera appreciated watching in action whenever the opportunity presented itself) and the four of them had charged into the fray.

 

Well, almost all four.

 

The Inquisitor, unfortunately, had been distracted as usual by the prospect of valuable loot. “These splinters look… awfully sad,” Herah commented leisurely, as she stooped low to prise a few wooden gate splinters from the ground.*

 

“What the sodding hell are you on about Tadwinks?!” Sera had yelled from a few feet away, where she was fending off a savage mabari, “More important things to be setting on fire, yeah?!”

 

The suggestion of flinging a few fireballs around immediately caught Herah’s attention and, much to the relief of her companions, the Inquisitor was soon found where she belonged: in the heat of battle.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra Pentaghast was going through an existential crisis.

 

Why?

 

Because she was, inarguably, a proven warrior of no small repute. She’d tackled dragons head on and earnt hard fought victories on countless battlefields. The numerous scars littered across her body were reminders of her illustrious, bloody past. She might regret some of the things she had done, some of the swings of her sword, but there remained one consistent element throughout her whole life: her talent as a warrior.

 

That was until this day in Crestwood.

 

There she had been, slamming mabari into walls and bludgeoning bandits with all the precision and strength of a mind and body _honed_ for battle throughout _years_ of dedicated training and experience.

 

And then suddenly, inexplicably, a bandit she had previously smashed into the ground and assumed unconscious or perhaps even dead was suddenly rearing back into life. A foot had thrust upwards and wantonly kicked her mace from her grasp. Off it flew, almost with an air of nonchalance about it, as if it’s disappearance from her hand didn’t actually signify her imminent death at all. For there was her shield a few feet away, having just been thrown at an incoming highwayman, and there she was – defenceless save for her bare hands - with a bandit lunging up at her with daggers drawn.

 

The two had clashed fiercely, daggers swiping and fists punching, but were it not for a trusty arrow from Sera slamming into the back of the bandit’s head, Cassandra Pentaghast may have met an unglamorous and untimely end.

 

Despite still having her life, this event did not sit well with the Seeker at all.

 

This was mainly because she was astonished and appalled at her own lack of awareness in the heat of battle. How had she not noticed the bandit was still conscious, waiting for an opening to take advantage of? Why hadn’t she confirmed the kill – ensured her mace had struck his head and left him lifeless? She hadn’t been ruthless enough or quick enough. It was unlike her and left her feeling shaken and –

 

“See, I said you have calves that can kick bears across Thedas,” interrupted a decidedly chipper voice, bringing Cassandra swiftly back to the present moment.

 

Herah Adaar, tending to a wound on Cassandra’s left leg with a gentleness that had surprised the Seeker, paused her work to offer a lopsided grin.

 

The two were sat on a small cot within a tent in Caer Bronach, now safely captured for the Inquisition’s uses. It had taken a great deal of persuasion, flattery, bribery and eventually flat out begging to cajole Cassandra into the tent to have her wounds taken care of by someone other than herself, but now they were here the Seeker had to admit to herself that current company wasn’t…entirely unpleasant. A little brazen and outlandish for her liking, perhaps, but the Inquisitor was starting to edge into Cassandra’s good books… even if it was against her better judgement.

 

“I would rather you didn’t comment on my calves at all,” Cassandra replied to the qunari presently.

 

“You know, most people would be honoured to have the Inquisitor compliment their calves, but by all means have it your way,” Herah replied good-naturedly, settling back to her work again.

 

A huff from the Seeker. A slight pause.

 

“…Grumpy-guts.”

 

“I am _not_ grumpy!” Cassandra retorted defensively. She did her best to ignore the cackle from Sera as she passed by the tent, on her way to pester Scout Harding no doubt.

 

“Well,” Herah began again, delicately beginning to wrap a bandage around Cassandra’s calf, “you aren’t exactly radiating sunshine either-”

 

“We were too careless today,” Cassandra interrupted haughtily, with an air of authority that quite belied her current status of ‘Wounded-Warrior’, “there was not enough planning before we assaulted the keep. We were vastly outnumbered and-”

 

“I managed quite comfortably,” Herah commented with another grin.

 

“…Is that a tone of smugness I detect, Inquisitor?”

 

“No, though it would not be misplaced if it were.”

 

Another huff. The bandage went round and round.

 

“I think I’ve worked out why you’re even more irritable than usual, Cassandra.”

 

“I am not irritable,” Cassandra said irritably, with an irritable expression on her face that conveyed just how irritable she actually was.

 

“It’s because it was Sera that saved your life today, isn’t it?” Herah said, pausing to look up at the Seeker, “It wouldn’t have affected you as much had it been myself or Solas but because it was Sera… you’re angry.”

 

“Why would I be angry?” Snapped Cassandra, “I am very grateful to… Sera-”

 

“That sounded like it physically hurt you to say aloud-” Herah began pointedly.

 

“I know the two of you are…close,” Cassandra said, as delicately as she could muster, “but that does not change my feelings on her status as a member of the Inquisition.”

 

“You think she doesn’t deserve to be here.”

 

“It isn’t a matter of deserving – for Maker’s sake – she is a _thief_ , completely unpredictable and foolish, I do not believe she even fully comprehends the magnitude of half the things that are happening and-”

 

“She saved your life,” Herah said, still wrapping the bandage round and round, “and it irks you that somebody like her protected someone like you.”

 

“I do not-”

 

“You do.”

 

“I do not - !”

 

“Do too.”

 

“Do not!”

 

“Do too.”

 

“Do not!”

 

“Do too.”

 

“Inquisitor!” Cassandra snapped, thoroughly flustered.

 

A sudden _phwump!_

 

The two glanced down to see half the bandages had unravelled and fallen on the floor.

 

Cassandra looked at Herah.

 

Herah looked at Cassandra.

 

“Inquisitor, do you… do you even know how to apply a bandage?” Cassandra asked hesitantly.

 

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Herah replied pleasantly, “but it’s the trying that counts.”

 

And just like that the tent was filled with laughter and Cassandra’s sulk lifted from her as though Herah Adaar had physically taken a hold of it herself and catapulted it into the breach with a well-placed dropkick.

 

* * *

 

 

Cassandra found Sera sat by a fire outside Solas’ tent.

 

Solas had misguidedly left the tent flap open, hoping to enjoy a little more of the fresh air before retiring for the night, and was now having to contend with the feisty blonde casting shadow puppets across the inside walls of his tent.

 

“Though your imaginative gestures are…impressive, I was rather hoping to read alone and uninterrupted tonight,” Solas commented pointedly, fixing Sera with a stare over the rim of his book. The shadowed gesture of a knob floated delicately across his chiselled cheekbones. How exactly Sera had made the shadow puppet of such a thing with only her bare hands was beyond even his own expansive intellect, though he was sure it involved no small amount of talent, however strange and utterly pointless.

 

“Eugh, _yuck,_ bet it’s a book all about spirits havin’ it off with each other-”

 

“Inspiring words as always, Sera, however misguided and incorrect-”

 

“Hey look! It’s Prissy Pants!” Sera interrupted, grinning mischievously as Cassandra came to a standstill beside her, “She knows all about _those_ kinds of books, yeah?”

 

A deep, patient breath from the Seeker. Maker only knew how she was going to get through this conversation without losing the will to live. “…Sera. It’s nice to see you.”

 

Sera’s shadow puppets halted mid-gesture. “You what?”

 

“I wanted to say…thank you,” Cassandra continued, sounding somewhat strained, “for earlier. You saved my life.”

 

Time seemed to span for eternities. Sera’s mouth was hanging slightly ajar, hands left frozen in the shape of what looked like a crab. Even Solas had raised a slender brow in surprise. Cassandra cleared her throat awkwardly, wishing desperately that she was anywhere else.

 

Then a peel of sudden, nervous laughter from Sera. She gawkily clambered to her feet and stood hesitantly beside the Seeker, seemingly unsure of whether to reply or scatter away like a startled cat.

 

“Ha – ha – yeah, you’re a funny one, you are, Seeker Pentaghast,” the elf eventually decided on, clumsily tripping over the words as she rushed to get them out, “don’t get all weird on me, yeah? Like you better when you’re beating up knobheads.”

 

“Agreed,” Cassandra said.

 

Another awkward pause. For one astonishingly horrifying moment, Cassandra looked as though she was going to attempt to give Sera a playful punch on the arm out of sheer panic.

 

Thankfully for everyone involved, Herah’s large arms suddenly wrapped around the two women’s shoulders as she hugged them close to her.

 

“Not talking about me, I hope,” The qunari said with a broad smile, “or if you are, I hope it’s about my impressive muscles.”

 

“Why? You offerin a show?” Sera retorted instantly, that trademark mischievous glint back in her eyes.

 

“Are you asking for one?” Herah replied smoothly.

 

_“…Woof.”_

 

“Ugh!” Cassandra huffed.

 

“Don’t worry Cassandra, you’re invited too,” the Inquisitor said, suddenly springing forwards and beginning to flex over-dramatically, “you too, Solas! Everyone gets a ticket to the show!”

 

“Inquisitor, I’m trying to read-”

 

“Read these bad boys!” Herah said, kissing both biceps.

 

“Inquisitor…there are people watching…” Cassandra attempted, quickly having to hide her face in a hand as Herah removed her leather coat in one fluid motion and flung it in Sera’s direction.

 

Sera gave a delighted whoop, catching the coat with one hand and punching the air with another.

 

Soon all of the Inquisition scouts in Caer Bronach were gathered around the recently titled Inquisitor, cheering and laughing as she leapt about in highly exaggerated poses, loudly challenging all the dragons in Thedas to “come and get a piece of this!”

 

Unfortunately for the Inquisitor, little did she know just how soon a dragon would take her up on the offer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Mala suledin nadas – Now you must endure
> 
>  
> 
> * A reference to the Sad Splinters you can pick up when demolishing certain Keep doors, just in case anyone was feeling a bit lost


	3. Diddlydick & A Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what old diddles was up to in Crestwood. And our #squad goes to war with a dragon. You're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you all thought you'd seen the last of me. But I'm determined to finish this fic...even if it takes me 84 years...

A dragon flew overhead, giving a deafening roar that could rattle even the sturdiest of wills.

The entirety of Caer Bronach shook, and a creeping sense of dread seemed to blanket the whole of Crestwood. (Which was saying something, because the place had already turned into some kind of sludgy swampscape crawling with walking corpses.)

“If I’m not very much mistaken, that was a dragon,” Solas noted solemnly, in a way that suggested he was imparting great wisdom rather than stating the obvious.

“Thanks for your input, Solas,” Herah replied as she watched the dragon soar into the distance, “For a moment there, I thought we were under the shadow of a very large pigeon-”

“THAT – WAS – BRILLIANT!” Sera bellowed, already clambering up Herah’s back and peering between her horns after the most majestic sight she’d ever seen. With a deep breath and a giddy heart, the elf opened her mouth to convey her vast excitement once more. Directly into Herah’s left ear this time. “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT-”

 _“CRAP_ – SERA, MY EAR!”

“BALLS TO YOUR EAR, BUCKLES! YOUR SHITTING MUM ONLY JUST FLEW BY-”

“That isn’t my mother, Sera,” Herah retorted through grit teeth, “Because my mother is almost certainly _dead-”_

“Well she’s got your horns-!”

“Perhaps we should go and attend to the rift now the lake is drained,” Cassandra’s voice mercifully cut in, with a slightly awkward clearing of the throat to boot. She was idly toying with the hilt of her sword at her hip, looking as though she were undergoing a severe bout of unwanted flashbacks that possibly involved a festival gone wrong, the Divine and some very angry dragons.

“Oh, boo-hoo, moody-guts!” Sera said, glowering down at the Seeker from atop Herah’s back, “You’re a prissy Pentagoose, meant to love killing dragons, yeah?”

“Penta _ghast-”_

“Peniscrap-”

“That’s even worse than your last attempt-”

“Not entirely a surprise,” Solas noted leisurely, “given Sera’s mind is too scattered to grasp anything that doesn’t involve curse words or shooting arrows. Remembering your family name is probably a stretch too far.”

A slow turn of Sera’s head in Solas’ direction. A scowl so powerful it threatened to open up a rift right there.

“I’m ‘gonna shove my entire fist right up your-” Sera began.

“Dam controls,” Herah announced suddenly, “if darkspawn trashed everything ten years ago… then who repaired the dam controls?”

A thoughtful silence and an exchange of suspicious glances.

 _“Diddlydick…”_ Sera muttered angrily, fists clenching around Herah’s horns.

* * *

 

But before swift justice could be imparted on the Mayor of Crestwood, there was a rift to be sorted out.

Right in the middle of some flooded caves, to be precise.

“Right, is anyone else feeling friggin’ bummed out, or is it just me, yeah?” Sera demanded, “There’s a dragon out there, just waiting for all my arrows, looking all big and shiny and scaly and – and – _shittin’ hot!_ And instead we’re in a cave filled with crud and – _shitpiss!_ It’s up my legs!”

“Did you just refer to a dragon as hot?” Solas questioned, tone heavy with concern.

“Don’t you judge me!” Sera shot back, jabbing a finger accusingly in the elf’s direction. “We all know about your weird little demony fade wanks!”

“My…my what-”

“I see the rift,” Cassandra interrupted, holding up a hand to halt the party behind her.

This was upsetting for two reasons:

  1. Sera and Solas were too busy squabbling and glaring at each other to notice, and Sera proceeded to walk firmly into the Seeker’s upheld fist, letting out an indignant roar of rage as she did so.
  2. Herah Adaar, the Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition, had spotted a withered looking bit of Elfroot behind the rift and was already launching herself forward to receive her prize, blissfully unaware of the all the demons spawning into existence nearby.



“INQUISITOR-” Cassandra began, pushing Sera unceremoniously aside and unsheathing her trusty sword for battle, “DEMONS, INQUISITOR!”

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the Qunari gracefully bent down to pick her precious Elfroot. Wraiths surrounding her. Magical energy flung in her direction. A lesser terror suddenly bursting from the fade beneath her.

A scream of pure fear erupted from Sera’s mouth as she realised what was happening. A vain, last ditch attempt to nock an arrow in time to assist Herah as she grappled with the demon in mid-air.

Solas swinging his staff into action, ice jetting forward to freeze the opponents as they set in on their kill. Cassandra’s blade slicing through the air – if only she could make it, just in time-

A sudden burst of green light.

Another rift tearing into sight, accompanied by the screeches of the demons as they were dragged into its midst.

Herah Adaar, still in the air, arm outstretched and Mark glowing intensely as she focused all her energy on sundering the Veil and using a rift to their own advantage.

It all only seemed to last a few seconds, before both rifts imploded and sent a shockwave blasting through the cave.

* * *

 

Herah wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but she figured there was a solid ninety percent chance she was dead.

On the plus side, that meant she wouldn’t have to deal with the dragon.

Actually, that was a very big plus. A plus that might outweigh the positives of surviving.

Herah Adaar refused to open her eyes and admit she could, potentially, still be alive.

“It’s not like I’m even bothered, right,” Sera’s voice came floating by, possibly from beside wherever Herah was lying. “Friggin’ idiot, she is. Almost dying over some stupid elfy plant. Because that’s more important than us – not like I walked through miles of complete swamp shite for her.”

“Delicately phrased as always, Sera,” Solas commented, “It’s a relief to see the near death of our Inquisitor hasn’t dampened your boundless empathy-”

“I think we’re all just tired,” Cassandra said, heaving a heavy sigh, “The last few days have been… challenging for everyone.”

A grumpy grunt in response from Sera. Judging from the sudden exhale of air that shot across Herah’s face, the elf must’ve been sat very close by.

Excessively close, in fact.

Herah slowly opened an eye to fix her girlfriend with a hard stare.

“Do you have to breath on me when I’m dying-”

_“Tadwinks!”_

“Just a little bit of room…in my last moments…is all I’m saying-”

“Shut up!” Sera interrupted, slapping Herah abruptly on a horn, “Just you – you – _friggin’ shut up!”_

Tears had spilled over and begun rolling down the elf’s cheeks. She hastily tried to wipe them away with a fist, but soon found there were too many to contend with. Instead, Sera buried her face in Herah’s neck, still giving the occasional slap to a horn for good measure.

Cassandra and Solas exchanged small, tired smiles.

“We’re glad to see you well again, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said. And she was rather surprised by just how much she meant it.

* * *

 

Apparently Herah Adaar had successfully closed the rift in the flooded caves. Along with the second, smaller rift she’d deemed fit to erupt into existence.

This was all swell and dandy, but it had come at a price.

Herah narrowed her eyes as she stared down at the Mark on her hand. It was still glowing a little, accompanied by sharp, shooting pains every few minutes or so.

“Still uncomfortable, Inquisitor?” Solas asked from beside the Qunari’s bed.

Herah was bedbound, having given up trying to fight her way out earlier (Cassandra’s muscles were nothing short of terrifying). So instead, she found herself here. Sat in some poor, kind woman’s house in the village of Crestwood as she slowly recovered.

With Solas sat beside her, holding out a spoon of soup for her to swallow.

“Yes,” Herah finally replied, “and I’m referring to both my hand and you feeding me.”

“Quite understandable,” Solas replied smoothly, undeterred from moving the spoon closer to Herah’s lips, “However, you need to build up your strength if the Mark is ever going to settle again. Thus, soup.”

“I don’t like soup.”

“Entirely irrelevant, I’m afraid Inquisitor.”

An irritated sigh from Herah. “I’m beginning to see why you don’t have many friends, Solas.”

“A common misconception. I have plenty of friends.”

An awkward silence. Herah was casting a shady glance over the elf. “…Plenty of demon friends.”

“I believe we’ve had this discussion before, and we agreed to disagree,” Solas said. The spoon was now tantalizingly close to the Inquisitor’s mouth. “Open wide.”

“No,” Herah replied through grit teeth.

“Neither of us want to be here,” Solas said, through equally grit teeth, “Yet our Seeker entrusted this task to me and I shall see it through.”

“Why’d you care so much about her all of a sudden?” Herah hissed, trying to sink lower into her pillows and away from the incoming spoon.

“I’m an apostate and she ensured my safety in Haven, when I could have easily been accosted by those of a less agreeable nature. She has my gratitude.”

“Did you just call Cassandra agreeable?”

“I would never be so foolish.”

A slight smirk flit across Herah’s lips. It was all the opportunity Solas needed and the spoon was thrust, in one smooth, fluid motion, into the Qunari’s mouth.

Spluttering. Choking. Flailing. Soup sprayed across the room. Solas struggling to keep the spoon in the target area.

“INQUISITOR,” Solas began, far too loudly and exasperatedly than he might have liked, “IT’S JUST SOUP, IF YOU COULD-”

A roar of indignant rage from the Herald of Andraste, who was looking less and less as though she were ‘the chosen one’ by the Divine with every passing second. The spoon was spat out, with such surprising force that it flew from Solas’ grasp and straight into the incoming face of Cassandra Pentaghast, who had just entered the room with a small note in her grasp.

Time seemed to pass by very slowly as the spoon clattered to the floor, leaving remnants of soup to drip leisurely down the Seeker’s face. Which happened to look like absolute thunder.

The tips of Solas’ ears were burning. “Seeker,” he greeted, with a slight bow of his head.

“Solas, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied stoically, as if she didn’t have soup dripping off the tip of her nose at all. “We’ve found evidence the Mayor of Crestwood flooded the village ten years ago to drown the darkspawn and the blight-sick.”

An awkward pause. The soup fiasco suddenly seemed very unimportant, despite the last leftovers still rolling down the Seeker’s face.

“I… what do we do about this?” Herah asked, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in her hand.

“Rather, the question is, what will _you_ do about this?” Solas corrected, staring pointedly at the Qunari.

A gulp from the Inquisitor. “Right…shit.”

“Also, the Mayor has gone missing,” Cassandra added helpfully.

“Double shit.”

“There’s also the matter of the dragon, the Northern Hunter, which has taken refuge south of the village.”

Herah stared blankly at Cassandra.

Cassandra stared heatedly back.

“I fail to see how that’s _my_ problem-” Herah began.

“It’s already eaten two people and needs dealing with,” Cassandra finished.

An aggrieved groan of epic proportions from the Inquisitor, who slowly turned over in bed and tried to bury herself under the covers.

* * *

 

“Cassandra, you’re a Pentaghast.”

“Well observed, Inquisitor.”

“Fantastic. Well, I’ll leave this to you then, I’m sure you’ve got it covered,” Herah said, giving the Seeker a hearty clap on the back.

“Not so fast,” Cassandra replied, grabbing a tight hold of the Qunari’s sleeve as she tried to turn and make her escape, “we’ll need all our strength to take down such a beast.”

“It’s…beautiful…” Sera whispered gleefully, peering at the dragon which was resting atop the ruins before them, “…so…shiny…”

“Ranged attacks will be best,” Solas remarked, “with Cassandra luring its attention. The Inquisitor and I will be casting barriers to keep our Seeker safe, of course.”

A heavy sigh from Cassandra. Sometimes in situations like this, which demanded she run full pelt into the fiery fury of a high dragon, she rather regretted becoming a warrior. “Solas is right. Keep behind me and out of its range. Hopefully it’ll all be over with quickly.”

“In time for dinner?” The Inquisitor asked hopefully.

“In time for dinner,” Cassandra replied firmly.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, as fate would have it, the dragon wasn’t dead in time for dinner.

In fact, proceedings had taken up the entirety of the afternoon and plunged deeply into dinner time, continuing forth into the night.

This was mainly due to the party having woefully underestimated just how angry this particular dragon was at being woken up after the draining of the lake.

Absolutely everything was on fire in a matter of seconds, including Cassandra’s eyebrows, after the Northern Hunter decided to belch out an impossibly large amount of lightning. Sera managed, in her giddy excitement, to fumble and drop all their electrical resistance tonics, and could only watch with an open mouth as they all merrily rolled along the ground and under a giant stamping foot of the dragon.

There was the briefest of moments, where time stood still, and Sera’s accompanying party members stared in complete disbelief at her, and her complete ineptitude, before the Northern Hunter was rearing up on its hind legs and beating its wings with such force that everyone found themselves dragged into close range.

This was, as it happened, entirely the opposite of their game plan.

Sera was shrieking and clinging onto the sturdiest thing near her, which happened to be Herah. The Inquisitor was holding half-heartedly onto a tree, wondering how her life had reached this tragic point, and behind them Solas was flying through the air, tunic flapping unhelpfully into his face and tangling round his staff.

Cassandra was the only person who seemed like she vaguely knew what she was doing, having had the honour, and absolute trauma, of fighting a dragon before.

Feet firm, heels digging grooves in the ground as she was sucked closer to the dragon. Shield up, sword raised, waiting until she was close enough to strike at its exposed stomach.

This seemed to cause a great deal of personal offense to the Northern Hunter, who hadn’t been sliced in the stomach in such a nonchalant manner before. Rings of electricity soon surrounded each party member, causing a lot of screaming and diving out of harm’s way.

Arrows whizzed past, jets of ice smashed into the dragon’s head.

Herah was eyeing up a bit of Elfroot nearby.

Cassandra, arms raised almost in defeat, yelling “REALLY, INQUISITOR?!” in complete and utter disbelief as the Qunari dashed across the ruins to add the herb to her growing collection.

* * *

 

Eventually victory was had, and the four companions found themselves sitting next to the corpse of their foe, resting the backs of their heads against its vast stomach.

“That was…friggin’ amazing,” Sera commented, still somewhat out of breath.

“We almost died,” Cassandra corrected.

“Yeah…” Sera said, shifting to lean her head on the Seeker’s shoulder (much to Cassandra’s awkwardness), “…you looked well fit with all your muscles and armour. Didn’t she, Inky?”

“Agreed,” Herah replied.

 _“Ugh,”_ said the Seeker, although her cheeks were burning. She made a mental note to only go on expeditions with Vivienne and possibly Blackwall from now on.

A few moments of blissful silence.

“Even I could appreciate your form, Seeker,” Solas commented leisurely.

A splutter, a cough, a wheeze and a screech of laughter from Sera.

Cassandra could only try and bury her glowing face in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone form a prayer circle that the next update won't take like over a year


	4. Judgement Day & A New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gregory Dedrick receives his sentence and someone turns up out of the blue uninvited like Adele.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because why update once in a year, when I could update twice every week?
> 
> (I'm kidding, I just seem to be on some kind of roll at the moment. Enjoy it while it lasts kids!)

“So…you’re telling me…in order to save lives…you had to…kill everyone?”

 

“Just so.”

 

“I…I just, forgive me…do you not see an inherent flaw with that plan?”

 

“Inquisitor?”

 

“Namely, there’s no one left to save once you’ve drowned them all.”

 

A long pause as Gregory Dedrick mulled over this latest viewpoint. It was an interesting opinion. One he certainly hadn’t thought about in any great detail before. “Your…estimation has some merits, I can see that,” he replied thoughtfully, “however, I simply couldn’t see any alternative at the time.”

 

A sneeze that sounded suspiciously like a scoff from Cullen’s direction. Josephine hastily making notes on vast reams of parchment that spilled onto the floor and began pooling around her feet. Vivienne was idly examining her nails and occasionally raising a solitary, slender brow when anything exceptionally ridiculous came out of the Inquisitor’s mouth. Fortunately for everyone today, Herah Adaar had been in surprisingly good form.

 

That was, until now.

 

“Is he just senile, do you think?” The qunari boomed from her seat in judgement, to nobody in particular.

 

The crowd murmured awkwardly amongst themselves.

 

“Not senile, just an absolute tosser!” Dorian’s voice echoed out from somewhere at the back of the main hall.

 

Herah nodded her head solemnly, taking a moment to absorb this new piece of information.

 

“I think what Dorian is trying to say,” Cassandra began hurriedly from her strategic location right at the front, “is that it might be a good idea to lock him up before he causes harm to anyone else.”

 

“Not what I said!” Dorian’s voice rang out merrily again.

 

“I should just die,” Gregory Dedrick said dramatically, shoulders slumping, “I don’t deserve the honour of life after I took it from so many others.”

 

“Spot on!” Came the voice of Dorian again.

 

“Will someone restrain him?!” Cassandra hissed through grit teeth, giving a none-too-playful punch in the stomach to Cullen beside her. The military advisor gave a surprised wheeze and doubled over, trying not to black out in the middle of such an important hearing.

 

“Cassandra…” he attempted, “…not helpful-”

 

“Could we not just exile him?” Solas asked, ever ready to give his unwanted opinion on matters that didn’t concern him.

 

“Oh yes, that’s a charming idea,” Vivienne drawled from the side of the hall, “let’s dump a mass murderer somewhere far away from _us,_ so that he might flood another village _elsewhere.”_

 

“He was doing what he thought was right-” Solas began again.

 

“So was Gereon Alexius,” Leliana cut in, suddenly emerging from the shadows and causing Josephine to give a small yelp of fright, “and look where that ended up.”

 

“Lots of big red crystals,” Herah said, as she underwent some traumatic flashbacks, “floaty statues…everyone dead.”

 

An awkward pause.

 

“I couldn’t even find any Elfroot, which was upsetting-”

 

“CHOP HIS HEAD OFF!” Sera roared from somewhere up in the rafters.

 

“I’VE GOT AN AXE!” Iron Bull bellowed heartily from in the middle of the crowd.

 

“Sickness everywhere, shaky hands, scribbled notes, I made him do it– I thought it was right – water flooding in – it doesn’t feel right anymore-” Cole’s ramblings began,  much to everyone’s deep concern, as he suddenly appeared beside Solas.

 

Things were quickly getting out of hand. Cassandra Pentaghast’s anxiety was skyrocketing into completely uncharted territory, as it always seemed to do around the unpredictable Inquisitor.

 

“Imprisonment, then, is it?” The Seeker attempted to clarify, hands clasped nervously together. Cullen was only just straightening back up, steadying himself on Cassandra’s shoulder and looking as though he might be sick.

 

“Is it?” Herah replied, a little confusedly.

 

“Yes, I think you said it is.” Cassandra said, nodding hurriedly.

 

“She did no such thing!” Dorian called out, loud and clear.

 

“SEND THE NOBBER TO THE BLOCK, TADWINKS!” Sera added enthusiastically.

 

Worryingly, Vivienne looked like she was going to enter the fray again and obliterate everyone with her vicious tongue, but fortunately for the crowd, Herah Adaar was raising a hand for silence.

 

(Josephine let out a faint sound of relief, which bordered somewhere between a squeak and a sigh, as her quill went into overdrive in a valiant attempt to catch up on proceedings during the lull. The rolls of parchment were now reaching knee-level and the ambassador was already on her sixth quill. Leliana was watching her with a slight quirk of the brow, which could have been conveying a small amount of admiration or simply just growing incredulity. Perhaps a bit of both.)

 

“Blackwall,” Herah boomed out once more, “you have thoughts.”

 

The Grey Warden jerked in surprise at being mentioned, having hoped to stay under the radar amidst the hearing. He was leaning against a wall, half hidden in shadow, thinking about what he was going to have for dinner that evening. And now here he was, cast into the limelight without warning or desire.

 

“I, uh…yes, I do. Of a sort.”

 

Herah nodded solemnly. “Would you care to elaborate?”

 

Everyone in the main hall turned to stare at Blackwall. Hundreds of beady little eyes, boring into his soul. Somewhere up above in the rafters, Sera was nocking a slingshot and taking aim at Gregory Dedrick.

 

“I suppose…he could join the Grey Wardens.”

 

A moment for this idea to take root. Countless quizzical faces. A small peanut sent catapulting through the air and _boinking!_ off Dedrick’s head.

 

“Aren’t you the only Grey Warden left in Ferelden?” Cullen asked confusedly.

 

“Yeah, I thought they’d all sacked it off?” Herah added helpfully.

 

“Ah…about that,” came Varric’s voice from near the front. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet and looked more than a little shifty. “…I may need to, uh, speak to the Inquisitor…as a matter of urgency.”

 

_“Varric,”_ Cassandra hissed, glowering at the dwarf for all she was worth, _“what are you hiding?”_

 

“Nothing, nothing!” Varric said, forcing a grin that looked none too convincing, “Just met up with an old friend is all!”

 

_“An old friend - ?!”_ The Seeker began, fists clenched and fury flaring.

 

“IT’S TRUE!” came a sudden, unmistakable voice from the entrance to the main hall, “YOU CALLED AND HERE I AM, READY TO HELP SAVE THE WORLD!”

 

Shocked gasps all around. Varric trying to hide his head in his hands. Cassandra, turning to see the newcomer, eyes wide in disbelief.

 

The crowd parted.

 

And there she was, arms wide as if she were expecting a hug, just a silhouette against the sunlight streaming in through the open door.

 

“Don’t all run to greet me at once!” Hawke added merrily, as if she hadn’t just turned up out of the blue uninvited at all.

 

A roar of pure rage from Cassandra Pentaghast as she flung a fist directly towards Varric’s face.

* * *

 

“I’m sorry this is your introduction to the…you know...”

 

“Inquisition?”

 

Herah looked like she was trying not to black out at the mere mention of the word. “That’s the one.”

 

Hawke grinned. “Still not used to it yet?”

 

“It all escalated rather quickly.”

 

“I know the feeling.”

 

“Still,” Herah said pleasantly, as if she wasn’t presiding over an execution at all, “this isn’t exactly the welcome party I’d have planned if I’d known you were coming.”

 

“I’d hope not!” The Champion of Kirkwall replied, giving the Inquisitor a playful nudge in the shoulder, “Although I just feel lucky I’m not the one being executed – did you see the look on Cassandra’s face when she saw me?”

 

The two exchanged smiles.

 

It might have been a lovely, poignant moment, had Herah Adaar not been due to begin the lawful murder of Gregory Dedrick.

 

“Inquisitor,” came the call from Cullen, stood in the courtyard beside the doomed ex-Mayor, “we just require your signal.”

 

A long-suffering sigh from the qunari. With an enormous amount of effort, Herah stepped forwards to address the crowd below.

 

“We’re gathered here today to…sort of…make _this,”_ here she gestured vaguely to Dedrick, “…end.”

 

“Well said!” Dorian piped up from amidst the crowd.

 

“So, without further ado…let the death begin.” Herah finished, as eloquently and politically nuanced as always.

 

(Behind her, Hawke had both brows raised in amazement. She’d heard stories from Varric about the Inquisitor’s abominably bad speech skills, but this was simply _breath-taking_. She turned to exchange glances with Leliana and Josephine beside her, but the pair refused to match her gaze. In fact, the two women looked like they were in physical pain. If only they could step in – take control of these types of situations and just leave the Inquisitor to do what she was good at. Collecting Elfroot and killing bandits. But no. This was it. This was their fate. And they were helpless to stop it.)

 

Fortunately for everyone, Herah wasn’t given another opportunity to speak, as the axe was already being swung down towards Gregory Dedrick’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated (e.g. this is my child...please love it...)


End file.
